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About Reykjavik

So, I tried it once—yeah, me, Larry freakin’ David! Walked into this shady joint, dim lights, smells like lavender and desperation. Lady’s like, “Take off your shirt,” and I’m thinkin’, “What am I, auditionin’ for somethin’?” Felt like that scene where the cowboy says, “You will see me one more time”—kinda ominous, kinda hot. She starts rubbin’, and I’m like, “Oh, this ain’t bad!” Then—bam!—it gets *sexual*, and I’m losin’ my mind. Happy? Sure! Angry? Maybe—why’s this so good, huh? Why’s it gotta cost me 80 bucks?!

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First off, I hit the streets of Egilsstadir, right? I’m talking about the main drag, Egilsstaðir Street. It’s like the heartbeat of this place. I’m strolling, coffee in hand, feeling all artsy and stuff. Then, bam! I trip over a rock. A rock! In a town full of beauty, I trip over a rock. Classic me, right?

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